


Empty Nest

by Batsymomma11



Series: The Details of Being A Dad [12]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred is worried, Bruce is in denial, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Empty Nest Syndrome, Everybody Gets Homesick, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Sadness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, puppies make everything better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 02:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17275352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Bruce is suffering from empty nest syndrome and doesn't know it. Alfred does and has determined a plan of action to solve the problem. He always does.





	Empty Nest

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own DC or its characters. I do own this story. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and enjoy!

               Bruce worked at the computer console until his eyes blurred and all he was seeing was gibberish and strangely alien looking symbols rather than English. Giving up felt a little like admitting defeat, but he could berate himself in the morning. After a few hours of sleep and a little more coffee.

                He shut down the giant spread of monitors, shuffled over to the power panel to the cave then shut that off too. The cave shutting down for the night was like an old man sighing long and loud, the electrical hum and pop of power relieved to be of no more use. Bruce went up the long staircase to the manor in the dark, knowing it by feel alone. He’d traversed those stairs enough he could do it blindly. When he reached the grandfather clock in the hall and cracked it open, it was a surprise to see there were still lights on.

                Bruce’s wrist watch claimed the hour was close to three in the morning. Alfred should have already gone to bed, long before now. Frowning, Bruce meandered down the hallway, shutting off lights as he went and found the trail illuminated brought him straight to the kitchen. Right where Alfred was sitting with a thick paperback, a cup of steaming tea, and a pair of readers perched astutely on the end of his nose.

                “What are you doing up?”

                Alfred lifted an imperious brow, his mouth tipping, “Good evening to you too, Master Bruce.”

                “Sorry.”

                “It’s alright.”

                Bruce shifted on his feet, waited for Alfred to speak but when it became apparent he wasn’t going to, gave up. “So, why are you awake? Is everything alright?”

                “I suppose I couldn’t sleep.”

                “No?” Bruce frowned at the older man, studying him more closely, looking for signs of fatigue or illness, “why not?”

                Alfred sighed, plucking off his glasses to peer up at Bruce, “Is it such a surprise that I might want to wait up for you?”

                “Wait up?”

                Alfred snorted, “Yes, how ridiculous of me. I forgot who I was speaking to. I wanted to have a moment to speak with you. You’ve been working nonstop.”

                Bruce swallowed, looked down at the floor, away from those prying all-knowing eyes and shrugged, “I’m tired Alfred. Maybe in the morning.”

                “I think now is prudent. Please, have a seat. I’ll get you some tea and brandy.”

                “I don’t think—”

                “Master Bruce.”

                It was the tone Alfred rarely took with Bruce. The one from Bruce’s childhood which denoted that any and all argument was strictly forbidden. Bruce sat in the opposite seat of Alfred and waited while the butler quickly procured a second cup of tea. Bruce could smell the sharp bitters of the brandy like a heady perfume even before Alfred deposited the tea in front of him.

                “There. Now that we’re comfortable. I would like to know how you are.”

                “How I am…”

                Alfred smiled pleasantly, sipped his tea, “Yes.”

                “I’m—good. Very good. Busy, like you said. But good,” Bruce lifted his tea to sip, then put it back down, “Alfred, what is this about?”

                “Drink your tea.”

                Bruce glared at the tea, took a scalding mouthful, far too large to be polite, then smiled rudely at him. “Better?”

                “Master Bruce I’m merely concerned about your well-being.”

                “How so?”

                “You’ve been working more than usual.”

                “I’m always working.”

                Alfred nodded, “Even more so than usual. Ever since Master Damian left for university a few weeks ago you’ve been in a frenzy. I’ve hardly seen you.”

                “I’ve been—”

                “And you’ve not been eating. Unless you count coffee, which I certainly do not. The moments where I’ve caught a glimpse of you I swear you’ve dropped a whole trouser size. Which means you aren’t taking care of yourself either. Something you haven’t done in quite some time.”

                Bruce swallowed, “Well I’ve been busy. There’s a case—”

                “I asked Master Jason and Master Dick about that. They informed me there is nothing so engrossing as to cause your undivided attention like this. And Master Tim informs me, everything with WE is doing well. No business deals or mergers on the horizon to cause such an uproar. So, I think we can safely say, these symptoms are not work related at all.”

                “Alfred—”

                “I’ve come to the conclusion that you are experiencing empty nest syndrome.”

                “Empty nest syndrome?” Bruce said the words incredulously, his mouth falling open. “You can’t be serious.”

                “I am. And I’m fairly certain of it. You’re depressed. Overworking, not sleeping, hardly eating. With the last of your children out from underfoot, it’s seriously affecting your health.”

                “Alfred, that’s just—ridiculous.”

                “Is it? You can’t deny the observations I’ve made. And it should hardly come as a surprise to you, sir. We’ve had children running within these halls for the last two decades. Without them, even I notice how dour it can be. How lonely.”

                Bruce gritted his teeth, “I’m not lonely.”

                “I beg to differ.”

                “Clark comes over every other day.”

                “That’s different,” Alfred sniffed, “Besides, I’ve done my research and what you need is something to care for to help fill the hole.”

                “Something to care for…”

                “Yes,” Alfred reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a sealed envelope. “Here. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging everything. We pick him up in a week. And if you try and tell me no, Master Damian will be horrendously disappointed as I’ve told him all about it. He seemed over the moon for his visit next month.”

                Bruce carefully took the envelope from Alfred, peeled it open and stared at the crisp photo Alfred had put inside. Big dark eyes, a wet nose, and pink tongue lolled at him from the picture. Beside the picture, were a few stats. Weight, length, potential size when fully grown, and the shelter’s name, cheerily printed in red and gold.

                “What have you done?” Bruce whispered, anger dangerously layered in his tone.

                “I’ve purchased you a puppy. I should think it would be obvious.”

                “I don’t need a dog.”

                “Yes, you do. You need something to care for. That little mutt needs a home. A place to grow up where he will be loved and doted on.”

                Bruce shoved back from the table, threw the picture beside the tea, “Alfred I don’t have time for a dog. I don’t want one. We finally had the last of Damian’s creatures die last year and I have no interest in starting the zoo all over again. How could you do this without even speaking to me?”

                “Because you would’ve said no.”

                “Hell yes, I would have!”

                Alfred’s mouth flattened, “You underestimated how much you would miss your children. This will help you adapt.”

                “Alfred, my god, I—” Bruce stuttered to a stop, ran out of words, felt his throat squeeze painfully and had to close his eyes to prevent the wash of tears from becoming reality. He’d purposefully not been thinking about the emptiness in the manor. He’d not allowed himself anywhere near the boys’ bedrooms. Middle of the night insomnia had never been so difficult without a circuit to walk and sleeping bodies to check on.

                In fact, he’d been out of the manor so much, with work at WE or as Batman, Bruce had hardly even been home, and it had been working. It had been—It had been—

                Not working.

                Bruce still went to bed thinking about the silence. He still felt his chest _ache_ when he looked at his phone and willed himself not to check in. Not to worry. Not to hover. Bruce may not want a dog but he couldn’t deny how badly he’d been handling the last of his boys moving out. The manor had been desperately quiet. The loneliness acute.

                Despite Clark’s visits. Despite the work and Bruce’s attempts at ignoring it. Bruce really was suffering from empty nest syndrome.

                “Master Bruce, it is only natural to miss them.”

                “I know that,” Bruce’s voice came out hoarse.

                “I miss them too. The extra mouths to feed, laundry piled up, and messes to clean. With you, I’ve hardly anything to keep busy.”

                Bruce lifted a brow, choking on a watery laugh, “So, you’re saying the dog would be for you too?”

                Alfred shrugged, “Why not? Who else will watch the thing when you are away?”

                “You’re out of your mind. We’ll have to train it. It’ll chew your rugs and shoes. You’ll want to kill it before it loses all those puppy teeth.”

                Alfred smirked, “And it will be a wonderful distraction. For us both.”

                Bruce looked at the picture on the table, sighed loudly as he went to pick it up and study once more. The pup was cute, that was for certain. But it would drool and pee everywhere. It would tie Bruce down with too many responsibilities. Did he really want to deal with all of that again when he’d finally freed himself?

                The small flaring of interest and something like hope in his stomach answered for him.

                “What breed is it?”

                “A mutt. The shelter said a litter was dropped off over Christmas with explanation and they’ve been fostering the litter. He should be weaned off milk and ready to come home by Wednesday.”

                Bruce fingered the floppy ears and shook his head, “He looks like trouble.”

                “Oh, he will be. But we’ve been taking in troublesome mutts for a long time now, haven’t we?”

                Yes, yes, they had.

                Bruce crawled into bed a half hour later full of hot tea and sleepy from the brandy. He took the picture of the pup to his bedroom, propped it up on the lamp and stared at it. He’d need to come up with a name.

                When he grabbed his phone to put it on the charger, he didn’t expect the little jolt he got when he saw Damian’s name on a text. Damian had been busy getting accustomed to school. He’d not had time for much contact.

                Bruce read the message and frowned.

                _Are you awake? (2:45 am)_

Stomach cramping a little with worry, Bruce hesitated only a moment before calling him. If Damian was already asleep, the call would just go to voicemail. No harm, no foul. They’d talk on a different day and nothing was likely wrong.

                “Damian?”

                There was a pause on the line after it picked up, a little intake of breath. “Father.”

                “What’s wrong?”

                “Nothing, nothing at all. I just—I couldn’t—well I couldn’t sleep. My bed is very uncomfortable. Nothing like the one at the manor and I was feeling a little—”

                Bruce felt the muscles in his shoulders release, the churning in his stomach lessen. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed and smiled. “Homesickness hits everyone at some point Damian.”

                “Right. I thought it might help to speak with you. To—hear your voice.”

                Bruce’s eyes burned, his throat tightened. “I’ve missed you too.”

                “I’m coming up for a visit next month. I’ll have a three-day weekend.”

                “That sounds wonderful,” Bruce kept his voice light, forced the longing from it. He didn’t need to make this worse on either of them. It was harder than he’d ever thought to be away from him for so long. From the bratty hellion he’d come to Bruce as, Damian had evolved into an impressive young man. Someone Bruce would gladly call a friend.

                “Has Alfred spoken to you yet?”

                Bruce rubbed his eyes, tipped back into his pillows, “Yes, I know about the puppy.”

                “Isn’t he handsome?”

                “Very. He looks like he’ll be big.”

                “Yes,” Damian murmured, sounding a little sleepy too. Bruce shifted, climbed under his covers and shut the lamp off. “He has big feet. Have you thought of a name yet?”

                “No,” Bruce yawned, “I was thinking you’d help me come up with something unique. You were always good at naming pets.”

                “I’m sure I could offer a few options.”

                “Good,” Bruce hummed, eyes slipping closed, “Dami, I might fall asleep on you.”

                “Would you mind if I stayed on the phone with you, until I fall asleep too?”

                Bruce smiled, felt the warmth all the way to his toes, felt the sadness drain away. “Not at all.”

                Bruce barely stayed awake long enough to hear Damian snoring, light and familiar in his ear. Then he ended the call and quickly followed. It was the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks. If he thought about the puppy and what Damian should name it right before darkness claimed him, he blamed Alfred for that. And wasn’t upset about it in the least.   

               


End file.
